


And So It Goes

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Showing He Cares By Prying, Denial, Drinking, Drunk Kissing, Hal Insulting People Instead of Discussing His Feelings, Hangover, M/M, Military Backstory, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Loathing, Swearing, mentioned past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: Hal's having a bad day and wants to drink his feelings away. Bruce takes him in to sober up and learns more than he ever thought he would.
Relationships: Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 136





	And So It Goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yellowwarbler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowwarbler/gifts).



> Thank you so so much to yellowwarbler for helping me make this happen!

**And so it goes, and so it goes, and you’re the only one who knows.**

It was a shitty bar.

Normally he would have found something a little better. Some place that didn’t have a sticky floor or a C on the window. But it was late and the decent places he could get into were closing and he didn’t have the right connections to really end up anywhere else. But hey. The music was loud and the beer was cold, and he figured he could have done a hell of a lot worse.

Some guy was staring at him from across the room, but Hal was able to ignore him well enough. If he wanted a cheap hookup, he would have pulled up Tinder and swiped on the first decent looking person he found and called it a night. 

The can of beer in his hand was cheap and he probably could have gotten a six pack for less than what he was paying here, but at least here, sitting in this bar that screamed ‘you’re probably going to get hep a’ it wasn’t like he was  _ completely  _ drinking alone.

He set the can down and frowned when he thought he heard a familiar voice near the door, but that was insane because Bruce Wayne sure as hell didn’t frequent places that smelled like stale cigarette smoke from the eighties. He didn’t bother to turn around and check. Besides. Plenty of people probably sounded like Bruce anyway. Seven billion people, bound to be a sound-alike somewhere.

The fact that that somewhere was some shitty bar in the shitty part of Gotham was probably just some coincidence.

Hal went to get the bartender’s attention and tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a heavy presence behind him. Maybe not a coincidence after all. 

“What the hell are you doing?” the voice whispered into his ear. If Hal didn’t know any better about what a tremendous asshole Bruce was, he would have maybe entertained the notion that he was actually  _ worried. _

He tilted his head back to get a look at the other man, dressed in a tailored button-up shirt and dress pants. Jesus Christ. Who showed up at some seedy bar like that? He grabbed the empty can and held it up, as if that would explain everything. “Drinking. Believe it or not, I’m over 21.”

Something flashed in Bruce’s eyes, but he didn’t bother putting any energy into figuring out what it was.

“You don’t drink.”

Hal raised an eyebrow and set the can down, turning on the barstool to look Bruce in the eye. “Yeah, you know, I really don’t want to get into how you’d know that.” He raised an eyebrow and waited expectantly, frustration pooling in his gut when Bruce just kept standing there looking at him.

God it was like grade school.

_ Ms. D? Bruce is looking at me. He’s looking at me, Ms. D. _

A laugh caught in his throat, and he wondered just how much he’d managed to drink since showing up here. He’d stopped counting after four.

He made a noise of protest when Bruce reached across the bar to hand his card to the bartender. “I can pay my own tab,” he glared. Bruce ignored him and muttered something about cutting him off and fuck if he hadn't been smart enough to realize Gotham people didn’t exactly say no to Bruce fucking Wayne. “Has anyone ever told you what a massive dick you are?”

Bruce ignored him, and somehow that was worse than if he would have taken the bait and bit back. “How are you getting home?”

“Well,” Hal started, dropping his gaze so he didn’t have to look at Bruce. “I was going to… Uh…”

“You didn’t get that far.”

“Nope.”

“Where are you staying?”

“What is this? 20 questions?” Hal snapped, jerking away from Bruce with more force than he probably needed. “I’m a big boy, Bruce. I can take care of myself.” Bruce crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow and Hal swore he was about ready to gesture at him as if his current state proved some sort of point. He squirmed in his seat when Bruce kept staring him down. “I was gonna fly home.”

Bruce nodded slowly, and Hal could all but feel the judgement radiating off of him. Was Bruce sure he wasn’t some sort of secret meta or something? “Come on,” he spoke, more command than request. “We’re leaving.”

Hal glanced at the bartender who had become content to act like he didn’t exist before glaring back at Bruce. “Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus, Bruce, I can get drunk if I want to. You don’t get to sweep in here and start bossing me around.”

A hand wrapped around his arm and Hal felt his blood run cold. He didn’t like what he saw in Bruce’s eyes and reluctantly followed him outside, struggling harder than he meant to to stay upright.

Bruce all but marched him to a car that was way too nice to be parallel parked in this part of town. Bruce opened the passenger door and glanced over at him. “You kidnapping me, Spooky?”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and made a face only a man who had raised five teenagers could make. “Get in the car.”

“Cause this was way hotter in my head.”

Bruce stared at him again, apparently not willing to dignify that with a response. Hal figured this went one of two ways. They stood here staring at each other until someone came to yell at them for loitering and he got forced into the car anyway, or he just got in now and saved them both some time and headache. Or maybe Bruce would drag him in kicking and screaming. Except that would draw a lot of attention and he was pretty sure this wasn’t an  _ actual  _ kidnapping. “Fine,” he grumbled and slid into the passenger seat.

Bruce took the driver’s seat and they sat in uncomfortable silence as he maneuvered out of the space and onto the road. 

It was three stop lights before Bruce decided to say something.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hal raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to look at Bruce. “Talk about what?” he asked, deciding to play dumb. It always worked for him before.

“Why you were close to a public intoxication charge in a Gotham bar?”

Hal rolled his eyes at that. “I’m not that drunk.” Bruce shook his head and a silence hung between them once more. “What makes you think I don’t drink?”

Bruce was silent a long while, hands tensing and relaxing on the wheel, never leaving ten and two. Fucking boy scout. “I’ve picked up the tab more than once,” he said after a moment. “For League lunches. You never order more than one beer, and it’s always full when you leave.”

“You make a habit of watching what people are drinking?” Hal questioned.

“I make a habit of knowing my teammates,” Bruce corrected. “Oliver’s commented on it.”

“What?” Hal didn’t even try to hide the edge that crept into his voice then.

“I heard him complaining to Barry that he needed a drinking buddy and you kept turning him down.”

Hal swore and shifted away from Bruce, turning his head to watch the bad part of Gotham start to fade into the okay part of Gotham. 

“How long?” Bruce asked, voice more curious than accusatory and damned if that didn’t make Hal want to hit him.

“‘Bout five minutes,” Hal answered, knowing that’s not what he meant. To his credit, Bruce didn’t press him on that one. “It’s just…” he trailed off, not sure why he’d bothered to start to open this can of worms in the first place. It wasn’t like he and Bruce talked. Hell. He didn’t even talk to Barry or Ollie about any of this. It was easier to ignore feelings. Push them down and bury them deep and put on a smile that told the world that everything was fine. That he was  _ fine.  _ “This is kind of a bad day for me.”

Bruce shifted a bit, like he wanted to ask for more but wasn’t sure if he could. Hal shook his head and shut his eyes. Maybe if he faked sleep Bruce would drop him off at some roadside motel and call his good deed of the day done. Part of him was tempted to reach for the radio, but he was worried Bruce would just swat his hand away from the stereo.

He never had liked quiet.

He frowned when Bruce pulled into a parking garage of some high-rise building or another. Definitely not Wayne Manor, but Bruce probably didn’t want the publicity of dragging some random drunk home with him.

He followed Bruce to the elevator, keeping quiet for once as the elevator made its way to the penthouse. 

Bruce snaked an arm around Hal’s waist to keep him steady, and Hal shot him a glare that was probably only half-hearted at best. Besides. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what this was. There was only one reason Bruce would drag a drunk off his ass prettyboy fuck-up home, right?

Hell. It wasn’t even home-home for Bruce, the asshole.

Bruce unlocked the door, not even stumbling a little bit with the key, and led Hal into a living room that was more well decorated than any second (or third, or hell maybe even fourth) residence had any right to be. “You can stay here tonight,” Bruce spoke as he all but dropped Hal onto the leather sectional taking up the middle of the living area.

“I told you I could get home,” Hal rolled his eyes, only to earn a glare from Bruce in return. 

_ You can stay here tonight, Jordan. This stays between us. _

Hal shifted in his seat, subconsciously moving away from Bruce when he sat down beside him. Bruce glanced over at him and Hal raised an eyebrow as if to demand ‘what?’

His body moved without his mind telling it to. He leaned over and pressed his lips against Bruce’s, soft at first, gentle even, resting a hand on Bruce’s thigh. Bruce pulled back at first before relaxing into Hal, one hand wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. He’d once asked Barry if he’d ever wondered what it would be like to kiss Batman. Barry had told him to be serious. Hal had told him he  _ was  _ being serious, and Barry had laughed him out of the room.

Bruce’s grip tightened around him, sending a message that Hal wasn’t moving. That he was Bruce’s right then, and that Bruce was going to do whatever he damn well pleased with him. Okay. So maybe not such a goddamn boy scout after all.

Bruce moved, dragging Hal to his feet and pinning him up against the wall, kissing him harder, like he’d wanted something for a while now and was determined to take it, but that was  _ nuts  _ because they got along about as well as oil and water. Hal tangled a hand in Bruce’s hair, pulling him closer still, hoping the message was coming across.

He was pretty sure there was only one message to send here, but communication had never exactly been a strong point of his. 

A low moan escaped his lips as Bruce trailed kisses down his jaw before biting sharply at his neck. Hal gasped, and Bruce smirked against his skin. “Harder,” Hal breathed, something starting to pool in his gut. Bruce grinned again before biting down so hard Hal was bound to have a bruise come morning.

He whined when Bruce moved his hand away, stepping back. Hal frowned and glanced over at him. “What the hell?”

Bruce stepped back, looking at Hal carefully. If he hadn't known any better he would have said Bruce looked guilty even. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, and the Pope’s Catholic.”

Bruce sighed, low and deep, and stepped back to look at Hal, really look at him. And Hal hated, absolutely  _ hated  _ how he felt like he was on full display. It was Superman who had the x-ray vision, but Bruce who could look deep inside someone’s soul.

“What are you doing, Jordan?” Bruce asked, voice tired and resigned in a way Hal didn’t know Bruce was capable of, his name sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

_ Look at what you’ve done, Jordan. _

“It’s Hal.”

It was probably the alcohol talking, but he was pretty sure he saw a frown start to form on Bruce’s face. “Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like to talk about?”

“With you?” Hal laughed dryly. “Yeah, no I’m good.”

“You’re not good,” Bruce sighed, folding his arms across his chest.

Hal rolled his eyes and moved closer to Bruce, wrapping an arm around his waist. This was what he wanted after all, right? Why he brought him here in the first place? “You sure you really want to stand here and talk?” He frowned when he felt Bruce’s hand wrap around his wrist. When he pulled away again.

“You’re drunk, Hal,” he repeated.

Hal shook his head and jerked back away from Bruce like they were the same side of two different magnets repelling each other. 

_ Sir, I’m not so sure this is a good idea… People will talk, sir. _

“Sleep it off,” Bruce spoke, placing a hand on Hal’s shoulder. Hal tensed, frozen to the spot, not wanting to move. Not wanting to breathe. “We can re-evaluate… this… in the morning.” Hal glanced down at the hand on his shoulder, not wanting to look up at Bruce. He could imagine that hand moving down, sliding under his shirt, undoing his uniform belt… “Hal?”

“I think,” Hal spoke carefully, hoping his voice felt steadier than he felt. “I think I’d just like to sleep it off now.”

Bruce nodded and started down the hall, motioning for Hal to follow him. Hal took a shaky breath before falling into step behind him, hesitating at the doorway leading to a bedroom. “Extra blankets in the closet,” Bruce said as he opened the door. “Connecting bathroom. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.” Hal nodded and chewed at his bottom lip. “Hal,” Bruce turned to face him again. “I’m going to ask again and then I’ll drop it. Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like to tell me?”

_ ‘Dammit, Jordan, I’m trying to help you here,’ his CO had snapped at him during the discharge process. ‘Are you certain, absolutely certain, there is nothing you’d like to tell me?’ _

“Positive, sir.”

* * *

He woke with a pounding headache and a God-awful taste in his mouth. Part of him wondered how he’d managed to do this so often before, and then he remembered the answer to that was ‘I was younger then’ and he didn’t really feel like going down that road at… he glanced at the clock on the table… ten AM.

Bits and pieces of the night before were coming back to him, and he wished he could just shove them all somewhere deep down and pretend that none of it had happened. He would try and sneak out like a sane person, but he was pretty sure Bruce would tackle him on his way out, the freak.

He made his way to the connecting bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw a brand new toothbrush, and brushed his teeth, considering a shower. Bruce probably had a nice shower with soft water and everything. He landed on ‘showering in Bruce’s apartment is probably weird’ before rinsing his mouth and making his way back to the living area.

Bruce was seated at the kitchen island, cup of coffee in hand. The smell made Hal’s stomach churn, but he didn’t want to be a choosing beggar. Bruce turned as if Hal had tripped some sort of silent alarm and glanced over at him. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Hal grumbled, making a point to avoid sitting anywhere near him. Bruce turned back to his coffee and paper, and Hal was content enough to ignore him, wondering if he could get away with just being a major dick and leaving without a word. But, after last night, that probably wasn’t the best idea. Bruce at least seemed content enough to keep reading the paper, letting Hal sit in his own misery. 

Eventually, Bruce folded the paper and set it back on the counter before turning to face Hal again. “How’s your head?”

Hal raised an eyebrow at that. Definitely not the question he’d been expecting. “Hurts,” he answered. “But I think I’ll live.” Bruce nodded but didn’t say anything further, and damned if that didn’t make Hal want to scream just to have some sort of sound filling the space. “Look, about last night…” he started, figuring Bruce wasn’t going to let him off easy and address the elephant in the room first. “I’m not… I don’t normally pull stunts like that.”

“I know.”

“Now look here, buddy, I know that I’ve got a reputation going, but…” he trailed off, 

Bruce’s words slowly catching up to him. “Wait, what?”

“You aren’t reckless, Hal,” Bruce spoke, voice cool and even like he was giving a report. “You just want people to think you are.”

“Didn’t you get a business degree?” Bruce gave him a look, and Hal shut his mouth for once. But, eventually the silence got the better of him and he started running it again. “But I mean like. I’m fine. Okay? It was just a bad day.”

“Hal?” Bruce asked, and Hal frowned at that. Bruce never used his first name. Ever. “People who are fine don’t usually go around screaming that they’re fine.”

“So like, you’re sure it’s a business degree?” Bruce glared again, and Hal shut his mouth again, letting the silence drag on a little longer that time so he could try and figure a way out of the hole he’d dug himself into. He wrapped an arm around himself and glanced over at some painting of a bowl of fruit hanging over a dining table that was probably used once a decade, if that. He frowned when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and glared up at Bruce when he dragged it away.

“You’re bleeding.”

Hal’s frown turned to confusion as he glanced down. Sure enough, he’d managed to dig his nails into his arm so hard he’d drawn blood. “It’s fine,” he insisted as Bruce got up to find a bandaid or whatever it was he kept here. Hell. He probably had a small hospital’s worth of supplies hidden away somewhere nearby. “I can do it myself, you know,” he said when Bruce returned, cleaning it off with an alcohol wipe that only burned a lot and sticking a name-brand Band Aid over the spots. Another silence fell over them, and Hal squirmed uncomfortably.

“Your teachers must have loved you,” Bruce commented, and Hal fought a dry laugh that threatened to escape.

“Yeah, well there’s a reason I enlisted at 17.” He shut his eyes and took a breath, not even sure why he was bothering. It wasn’t like he and Bruce were friends. Hell. He even made it a point to avoid talk of his service days with Barry. “But I’m fine, Bruce, okay?”

“You’re not,” Bruce argued, leaning against his elbow.

“Then please, Bruce, please tell me what it is you know about me that lets you think you know better than I do.”

Bruce was silent, which wasn’t really anything new for Bruce, but Hal still didn’t like it. “You called me ‘sir’ last night,” he spoke, and Hal felt the color drain out of his face. 

“Military thing,” he said quickly, too quickly. “Hard to break.” A lie, and a bad one at that because…

“Hal, in our years of knowing each other, you have never done that.”

Hal sighed again and made it a point to look anywhere but Bruce’s direction. “I was dishonorably discharged,” he said after another long moment. “Assaulted an officer. But you knew that. Don’t say you didn’t ‘cause I know you have freaky files on all of us or whatever.” Bruce didn’t say anything, and Hal couldn’t help but think all of this would have been easier if he had. “What you probably don’t know, or hell, maybe you do because God knows you know more than you should, is that I didn’t just assault him. I beat him black and blue. My sergeant had to drag me off the guy, and I don’t regret it. Not even a little.”

He heard Bruce’s breathing change and glanced up at him. His expression had softened maybe a tenth of his default glare, and Hal fought the urge to squirm again. Because the absolute last goddamn thing he needed was Bruce feeling any sort of emotion toward him that didn’t involve some form of annoyance.

“So there,” Hal sighed again, the edge draining out of his tone. “Happy? Dirty little secret from Hal Jordan. Congrats. You can probably kick me out of the League now.”

Bruce studied him for a long moment, probably determined to find the monster Hal was convinced had taken over his body at some point, the one that pretended everything was fine and was content to shove everyone as far away as he could. “So why’d you do it?”

Hal blinked and stared at him a good, long minute. He’d been expecting a lecture or an ‘I knew it’ or any other number of appropriate responses. But definitely not that. And now? Now he’d buried himself so damn far in his own grave that he wasn’t going to have a chance in hell of lying his way out. “I swear to God, Bruce, if you tell anyone about this conversation, no one will ever find you.” If that threat phased Bruce in the slightest, he didn’t show it. “There was this… thing,” he spoke, voice quivering just enough to make him hate himself even more. “Gala, party, whatever you want to call it. I drank too much because I was in my twenties, and hey, free booze. Anyway. I was sloppy drunk. Like couldn’t see straight probably embarrassed the shit out of myself drunk.” He didn’t know why it seemed so important to emphasize it, but he didn’t really care right then. 

He shut his eyes, trying to push away the images flooding into his head. He could’ve told Bruce what he was wearing or what color the table linens were or any number of details he didn’t really need to know.

He took a shaky breath before starting again. “There was this colonel, you don’t need to know who, who had always had… I don’t know. A thing? I guess? He had no reason to know who I was but he did. He grabbed me by the arm. Asked what the hell I was doing other than making a mockery of the United States Airforce. His wife was on some trip with friends, so he brought me to his place to sober up, and I dunno. Part of me knew it was weird. Colonels don’t… They don’t invite people like me over, okay?” A sick feeling came over him, but he tried to fight it down. “He got me home and said I owed him. That he was saving my career. And… things happened that I really, really don’t want to talk about okay?”

He forced himself to open his eyes and look over at Bruce. The other man’s jaw was set, and Hal had only really seen that look in his eyes when he was about to go beat the ever loving shit out of someone. “It was my fault,” he hugged himself tightly. “I was an idiot and…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Hal blinked hard and stared up at Bruce in confusion because Bruce was always the first person to let him know he’d screwed up. “I’m assuming this happened more than once?”

Hal nodded and dropped his gaze again. “Happened until he grabbed me and I hit him and didn’t stop until they pulled me away.”

Bruce kept studying him like he was some sort of book he was going to be tested over later, but Hal didn’t squirm away that time. 

“Thanks,” Hal said after a moment spent debating on if he should keep talking or not. “For not… For not letting things get too far last night.”

It was Bruce’s turn to squirm then. Hal watched as he opened his mouth, started to say something, and changed his mind. “If we’re being honest with each other,” he started after a moment, and who’d have thought Bruce had an honest bone in his body? “I wanted things to go further.”

Hal nodded and studied the countertop. It probably would have felt nice on his hungover head. “Yeah, well if we’re being honest, so did I.” He swallowed hard and glanced over at Bruce, more than a little surprised he hadn't scared him off.

“Maybe we could… try again? Some other time?” Bruce asked, and Hal blinked again and fought the urge to laugh because laughing at someone trying to get into your pants usually didn’t end too well but damned if this was not the  _ weirdest  _ way he’d ever had this conversation.

“Yeah, yeah sounds great.” A smile crept onto his face as he shook his head. “But you’re taking me to dinner first.”

Bruce laughed, and Hal glanced up in surprise. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually heard him laugh before. “Name the place.”


End file.
